


Sandbagging and Benchfiring

by KahtyaSofia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Challenge: Combat Jack: Team Night, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Prompt: High and Right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-08
Updated: 2010-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 00:03:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KahtyaSofia/pseuds/KahtyaSofia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate feels like he's failing. He's never been more wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sandbagging and Benchfiring

**Author's Note:**

> _Prompt: High and Right_ \- Losing one's temper or rationality; from the common error of a poor shooter to jerk the trigger and impact the upper right side of a target.

  
It makes strategic sense for the crossing from Kuwait into Iraq to take place in the dark of night. Nate understands, he just doesn't like it. Nate's not afraid of the dark, but surety and confidence in the light of day always give way to doubt and insecurity. He's not quite sure why the setting of the sun always has him feeling off-balance and disoriented.

Captain Schwetje fucks up their crossing and puts them so far behind schedule, Nate isn't sure they can make up the time. Nate knows Brad wouldn't have made the same mistake and he's agonizingly aware that educated didn't equal intelligent. All of his education, all of his achievements pale in comparison to the natural way in which Brad both executes tasks and leads his men.

Still, they're Marines on a mission and they're quick and efficient and Nate is proud. Then Godfather orders them to 'un-surrender' the prisoners. Nate is surprised and disturbed but he follows the order. He makes his men follow the order, standing strong against their angry and resentful glares.

Nate is alone in the dark that night when he realizes he isn't quite so sure.

"Am I interrupting you, Sir?"

Nate starts slightly at the unexpected sound of Brad's voice breaking through the darkness.

"Not at all, Brad," he replies mildly, shoving aside his doubts. "What can I do for you?"

"The men are unsettled by the way we were ordered to release those Iraqi prisoners today." Brad emerges from the darkness; a part of Nate marvels that there's still a sun-kissed glow about him, even at night.

"We didn't have a choice," Nate says brusquely. "Godfather's orders."

"I know, Sir." Brad clutches his weapon in one large hand and stands in a relaxed manner. Nate envies him his ease. "I've got them quieted down. I guess I just needed to know you weren't happy with the situation, either."

Nate swallows hard, knowing he has to tread carefully here. He weighs officer solidarity against a sudden need for Brad's respect.

"It's not an order I would have given," he says carefully. "But I couldn't ignore it. We're Marines, Brad. We follow orders."

"Roger that, Sir." Brad gives a short nod of his head and shifts his weight.

Nate expects Brad to take his leave but he doesn't. They lapse into silence and he refuses to fidget under Brad's sharp gaze. He knows Brad is taking his measure and Nate suspects he's going to be found lacking. Brad stands tall and straight, his gaze quietly assessing, and Nate feels small and dull next to his brightly shining Team Leader.

"Is there anything else you need, Sergeant?" He doesn't want Brad to leave, but Nate has to say something. There's a knot, low in his gut, as he wonders if he's managed to retain Brad's respect.

"Need, Sir? No." Brad's headshake is barely perceptible. "I should get back to my men."

Nate nods a dismissal. "Anytime you need to talk, Brad." He leaves the rest of the statement unspoken, but he's sure he sees understanding register in Brad's eyes. Nate hopes it's enough to keep his Team Leader's orbit circling through his own.

Their orbits intersect again the night they stand and watch Nasiriyah being lit up. Despite the death and destruction raining down before them, Nate feels oddly at peace. Instead of feeling smothered by the darkness, instead of feeling adrift, he feels anchored by the warm glow of Brad's presence at his side.

It's not the words they speak that ease Nate's worries, but the ones they don't. He knows it shouldn't be possible for Brad to understand him so easily. He knows he shouldn't intuitively know Brad's thoughts and feelings. A fleeting thought crosses Nate's mind but he quickly banishes it. Brad is his TL. To contemplate more is dangerously inappropriate.

Those thoughts become harder to ignore when Nate tells Brad they're busting north to Nasiriyah to hook up with Regimental Combat Team. In broad daylight, Nate feels confident in his command and satisfied with the orders he's been given. Brad glows in the sunlight. It dances off his pale hair and washes out his blue eyes. Nate can't help wondering if Brad doesn't absorb the sun's rays until he glows from the inside out.

Nate finds it hard to keep eye contact with him so he almost misses the subtle shift of expression in Brad's face. Almost. Surprise and joy chase across Brad's features and Nate's breath catches at the realization that he put that look of happiness on Brad's face. Anyone not looking would miss it entirely, so slight are the changes in Brad's eyes and mouth. Nate is looking for it, watching for it. Hell, he's looking for ways to provoke it.

Morale spirals after their first firefight and with it, Nate's confidence. He studies Brad's obvious ease with his men. He uses his humor to ease a tense situation and Nate is grateful for his presence, even if he feels strangely inadequate in the shadow Brad seems to cast, even in the dark.

He digs deep within himself and finds whatever it is that got him through Dartmouth and then through all the Marine Corps training it took to get here. Nate speaks to his men, hearing his own voice sound more confident and sure then he feels.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me, sir?" Brad's softly spoken words cut sharply into Nate's late-night reverie. His heart leaps into his throat when he thinks for a moment that Brad knows about those fleeting fantasies he's been having. Nate dismisses that thought – Brad couldn't care less about Nate's silent yen – and worries instead that Brad's seen through his façade. The last thing he wants is for Brad Colbert to think he's weak.

Nate watches Brad's approach, all relaxed muscle, casual stride and coiled strength. Brad comes to stand next to him, and Nate feels small and dark and _plain_ beside him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Nate dissembles.

"I understand the need for unity of command," Brad says, his eyes boring hotly into Nate and warming him against the chill of the desert night. "And you have the Gunny to work out ways to square away the idiocy of command so that it doesn't fuck with the men. But I'm your primary Team Leader, and if I can be of any operational help to you, I hope you won't hesitate to share intel with me. Sir."

Nate is suddenly overcome by a strong sense of disconnect. He's had dreams of this very thing happening. Still, Brad is so close and so intense, Nate's no longer sure he can distinguish between the desires of his sleep and this surreal moment.

"I appreciate that, Brad." And Nate does. More than he dares let Brad know. "I assure you, I will pass on any and all intel that may increase your combat effectiveness." It's a cop out and Nate's aware that they both know it.

"Then again, if you get tired of hearing all about the great state of Texas, Gunny's wife's cooking and how his kids did in the school spelling bee," the right side of Brad's mouth lifts in his characteristic half-smile that always has the effect of a gut-punch on Nate. "We could shoot the shit or just sit in silence." A distant mortar punctuates Brad's words. "Well, relative silence," he amends.

It's dark and Nate tells himself he doesn't really see what he thinks he sees in Brad's eyes. He desperately wishes for daylight, then quashes the thought. If he's imagining things, Nate would rather not know for sure.

"I'll take that under advisement," he says carefully. "Thank you."

Brad nods and melts into the darkness.

Nate shivers at the sudden cold.

Nate's words to his men are made lies in the clear light of day. Still, it's daylight and Nate is once again sure of himself, in spite of it all. He feels Brad towering next to him, even though they've both taken a knee. Nate is in command here and won't acknowledge the persistent whisper in his own head that tells him Brad is as at least as able to lead this platoon as he is, and that's without the Ivy League education and OCS. He ignores the way the sun is favoring Brad, yet again, and orders him to take Nate's own 'kids', Stafford and Christeson, as he and Doc check out the enemy encampment. Their lives will be in no better hands than Brad's and they'll be learning from the best.

Later, after Schwetje takes a wrong turn at the wrong bridge, Nate uses this developing ability to communicate wordlessly with Brad to back him down from incurring the wrath of their Captain and his Gunny. Whatever this strange connection, this bond, is that is growing between them, Nate's thankful for it. A part of Nate wonders if Brad is aware of their new closeness and what he makes of it.

By now, he can tell when Brad is unsettled. Nate had expected to see eagerness, or what passed for it in the lexicon of Brad's expressions, when he'd grasped his arm through the open Humvee window. Nate doesn't know what caused the shadows to haunt Brad's eyes, surely something the men had been talking about before his approach. So, he grips Brad's arm just a little more firmly and tells him, truthfully, he's glad to be rolling into battle with him. Nate counts on this connection between them to encourage Brad, to bolster him and get him back on an even keel. Something low and deep inside of Nate wants to ease away whatever pain chases through Brad.

He's probably kidding himself that his approval or appreciation makes a dent in the emotional armor Brad wears like a second skin.

In some way, Nate's still trying to protect Brad when he stands up to Sixta over his men having to shave. Brad is there, at his back, watching the exchange like a silent sentinel. Nate loses, but something tells him he passed a strange sort of test conducted only inside Brad's head.

He spends half a day scamming LSA from RCT-1. The MK19 on his Team Leader's Humvee needs the appropriate lubricant in order to be combat effective, and if Griego isn't going to obtain it, Nate sure as hell is. Brad's offer to kiss him -- even though it's a joke, it stirs something warm in Nate's gut and in his groin. Brad is happy and Nate realizes he wants to be the one to make Brad happy. He's a fucking suitor come calling, bringing gifts to his beloved.

Nate's fucked and he knows it.

He feels his career slipping away from him, and what may be left of his idealism, as he walks away from Schwetje. The choice between his career and the lives of his men is really no choice at all. Nate strides away from the scene of the confrontation, aware that the night will be upon them soon, and realizing he's not ready for it to descend.

As the sun is setting, Brad is suddenly _there_. Nate represses the urge to reach out and touch Brad. Something inside of him feels drawn to heat and the light that are so elementally Brad, as if he can prolong his time in the sun. Nate takes several slow, deep breaths, steeling himself against both his growing unease and his wildly inappropriate lust for his TL.

Nate's been drawn to Brad since they met, but now the attraction unfurls in his chest and lodges there. He had hoped he was earning Brad's respect. He's second guessed his own decisions and abilities, yet Brad has found something in Nate to both respect and _admire_.

As the fading sun haloes Brad's pale hair, Nate reminds himself to breathe. He finds he no longer dreads the coming fall of night. Instead, he dreads the moment Brad would nod, murmur 'sir' respectfully and saunter away into the dark.

When that doesn't happen immediately, he glances back at Brad questioningly. Their eyes lock and hold for an interminable moment.

"Nate," Brad says, then halts. Whatever he was going to say dies on his lips.

Nate wasn't sure he'd have heard the words over the sound of his heart thundering in his own ears. He'd never thought to hear his given name spoken in Brad's voice.

"Yeah, Brad?" he prompts, keeping his voice low and even hoping to encourage this unexpected conversation.

Brad looks off into the distance and releases a heavy sigh. "Nothing, sir," he finally answers. "I thought you might want to spend some time talking about anything other than the endless expanse of sand, LSA, batteries, and the relative competence, or lack thereof, of command."

Nate feels a corner of his mouth quirk as a pleasing warmth spreads through him. "I would have thought you'd have better things to do, such as ensure your MK19 is property lubed or that Cpl. Person doesn't ingest Ripped Fuel before a combat jack."

Brad blinks once before one side of his mouth lifts and the world tilts beneath Nate's feet. "I find it of great interest that you would list lubricant and a combat jack in the same sentence. I choose not to contemplate what it means that Ray Person was also included in your recitation."

Nate freezes and he's sure it's obvious he's been caught off guard. Brad's right. He'd thought it an innocent enough statement, but the way Brad restated it sounded … suggestive. Then, Nate realizes Brad is still smirking and practically staring _into_ him.

He feels a warm flush on his cheeks and knows it's due only in part to a blush. If Nate's honest with himself – and he always tries to be – he has to admit bantering with Brad is arousing.

"You're a Marine, I wouldn't think you required lube and a combat jack be paired up." Nate dared a small smile.

Something flashes in Brad's eyes and Nate thinks he might have stopped breathing. An odd tension suddenly seems to roll off of Brad. Nate's response is a familiar stirring in his cock.

"Not for the jack itself," Brad's answer is laconic. "But it plays an integral part in the fantasies leading up to the jack."

Christ. Is Nate really standing here discussing lube and jacking off with Brad Colbert? It doesn't escape him that Brad's fantasies include, or even require, lube.

"Compiling an itemized list of things to do as soon as you're back home?" Nate is surprised by his own words.

Brad looks off into the distance again. "I certainly hope so," he says enigmatically.

Nate senses they're on dangerous ground now. He wants to explore this further but now is not the time. Here is not the place.

"I want a long, hot shower," Nate says, looking off into the same distance Brad is. It's too late when he realizes he hasn't steered them to a safer topic.

"That'd be a good start," Brad murmurs. Before Nate can dig the whole any deeper, he continues. "A long, fast ride on my bike would be nice."

"Clean sheets and a quiet night to read an entire book," Nate sighs.

Brad now stands shoulder to shoulder with Nate as they stare at the horizon, the light continuing the fade around them.

"Any meal cooked by my mom," Brad says, surprising Nate.

"Yeah, me too.

"It'll be nice to sleep for more than a few hours at a time," Nate muses.

Brad grunts in response, then, "Did you have trouble sleeping when you got back from Afghanistan?"

"Yes," Nate confesses, remembering the long, frustrating nights he'd spent tossing in his bed, immediately after returning home. "I'd forgotten that."

"When we get back," Brad says, after a long, companionable silence. "If you need to talk about all this … if you're up at weird hours and want to call … I'll answer."

"I … that's …" Nate studies the scuffed and dusty toe of his boot. "Thank you, Brad. I'll remember that."

"Please do, sir." Brad is silent again for several long moments, then he asks, "Well, have I provided a sufficient distraction for this evening?"

Nate chuckles and sneaks a glance at Brad. "Yes, Sergeant, you did."

"Then my work here is done. If you'll excuse me?"

Nate nods dismissal, still smiling at Brad's retreating back.

Total darkness had fallen while they'd talked and Nate realizes he hadn't even noticed when it had happened.

They seize the airfield in the light of day and Nate is secretly relieved. He's sure that, had they made the assault in the dark, they'd have met with resistance. His pleasure at their success is short lived when he's told about the supply truck. He feels himself teetering on the brink of despair when he sees the look on Brad's face after the shepherd boy had been wounded.

Nate watches Brad withdraw at the same time he feels it happening. He struggles for a way to halt the downward spiral and latches, almost desperately, onto the idea of carrying the boy to Godfather. He stands side-by-side with Brad as they listen to Godfather's monologue. For a brief moment they're of the same mind; unified in their beliefs and actions. He takes Brad's lead and stands stoic and silent throughout the justifications and the sudden capitulation stuns him. He's afraid words will break the spell that has Godfather relenting so he says nothing aloud. The meeting of his eyes with Brad's as they turn to leave the command tent speaks volumes, though.

It's a battle and victory shared silently between them with complete understanding.

His heart twists in his chest later that night when he and Mike stroll up to two-one Alpha's Humvee. Brad is sitting in the dark with his men, head lowered and speaking softly with them. He's explaining, cautioning, warning his men, turning the events of the day into an opportunity for training. Nate is impressed and proud. Brad is leading by example, shouldering the responsible for Trombley's shooting of the boy, yet still ensuring his men understand the gravity of the situation so that it doesn't repeat.

Nate tries to emulate Brad's example but his own words sound hollow and lacking. He feels Brad continue to pull further and further away as each moment passes; Trombley continues to look confused as Mike tries to explain the need for compassion in a warrior and Ray – Ray just watches Brad with a silence that's almost frightening in its intensity. Nate's at a loss. He gives up and executes a strategic retreat.

He hides his irritation when Evan seeks him out later that evening.

"Lt. Fick," he starts hesitantly. "Is Sgt. Colbert alright?"

"Last I saw him he was fine. Seeing to his men." Nate thinks he might sound a little _too_ casual. "Why do you ask?"

"He started talking to me about what happened today, and then … I don't know … he got quiet and just walked off into the dark. Evan's concern is genuine. Nate realizes he should take this seriously. Evan spends a great deal of time in a Humvee with Brad and the fact that something seems distinctly wrong to him, means Nate should see to it.

"Which direction did he head?" Nate asks, reaching for his Kevlar and his weapon.

Evan points up over a berm, behind which is nothing but darkness. Nate swallows hard.

Fucking Brad.

"Thanks, Evan," Nate takes off at a jog, pausing only long enough to tell Mike where he's going, making it sound as though Brad has asked for him.

It's not as hard to find Brad as Nate had anticipated and he wonders if it's due to Brad's preoccupation or if he'd wanted – hoped – Nate would find him.

"Sergeant," Nate calls, when Brad finally steps from the shadows and ends Nate's hunt. "Reporter said you seemed out of sorts. Everything okay?"

"You were there today, sir," Brad replies dully. "_Is_ everything okay?"

"No," Nate confesses quickly. "Things are fucked up. I'm asking if _you're_ going to be okay."

"I'll be fine, sir." Brad's voice and eyes are so flat, Nate can taste the lie.

"What can I do to help?" Nate asks, needing to drag Brad out this downward spiral.

"You did all you could earlier today. Thank you for taking that stand, sir."

"It was the right thing to do," Nate replies ignoring the warmth blossoming in his belly at Brad's words. "You know it wasn't your fault, don't you Brad?"

"I gave Trombley the order, without any clarification. I didn't caution him to exercise any kind of evaluation or judgment. Trombley followed my direct order, just like he's trained he do."

Anger and self-loathing roll off of Brad and crash against Nate. There is _pain_ in Brad's eyes and Nate hadn't expected that, or his own desire to grab Brad and kiss him into forgetting.

He could just imagine Brad pulling out his KA-BAR in reaction to that little fantasy.

"I admire you shouldering the responsibility publicly," Nate says firmly. "It's a testament to how effective you are as an NCO that you will protect the men in your command from any fallout." Something glints in Brad's eyes that Nate can't identify so he rushes on. "I also noticed you taking the time talk it out with your team; helping them to understand the consequences, but also to learn from the experience."

"Thank you, sir." Brad's voice is brittle and his words clipped and Nate blinks in response, wondering what he'd said wrong. "Your approval is appreciated."

The tension and anger that's rolling off of Brad jolts Nate and he struggles to find his footing. The darkness seems to close in and try to smother him.

"I want to make sure you understand, inside your own head, that you aren't responsible for that injured shepherd boy," Nate says firmly. "You do get that, don't you Sergeant."

"I do indeed, Lieutenant," Brad replies with a calm that Nate can feel is false.

"Very good," Nate says with a nod. "I rely on you heavily, Brad. Let me know if I can return the favor."

Not understanding Brad's reaction and not knowing what else he can say, Nate starts to turn and leave Brad to the dark in which he seems so comfortable.

"Is that all you've got?" Brad calls out to him.

"Excuse me?" Nate asks, confusion furrowing his brow as he turns back to Brad.

"That's all I get?" Brad squares off with Nate. He finds he's aroused by the danger that is elemental in Brad.

"Officer platitudes and hollow compliments?"

"What else do you need?" Nate asks, his words swallowed by the darkness. He's afraid of Brad's answer, afraid that he already knows the answer, and afraid, too, that he's misunderstanding, that he's not seeing Brad clearly in the dark.

"Nothing, sir," Brad replies. He wonders if he's imagining the bitterness in Brad's voice. "Not a thing. Thank you for your concern and I assure you, my combat effectiveness is unaffected."

Nate nods again, mutely, before turning and making his way into the suffocating darkness.

He's losing Brad, Nate realizes sadly. He watches Rudy shimmy beneath the Humvee with Brad. He wants to do that himself but he obviously doesn't know the right fucking words to pull Brad back from the abyss. Nate can't help but feel he somehow pushed Brad closer to the edge.

Nate is less than useless and Brad finally claws his way out of his funk with own sheer will. It's not lost on Nate that Brad found his way out during the night, a time when Nate usually turns in on himself.

Something passes between them in the dark just before they roll into Al Kut. It's a return to their silent communication and Nate is heartened. Things are falling to shit quickly and he's struggling to hold them, himself, and his men, together. Brad holds Nate's gaze longer than is necessary; longer than is wise. His eyes even run over Nate's form, feeling like a caress. Suddenly, Nate realizes where he'd gone wrong the night he'd reached out to Brad after they'd seized the airfield. He nods his understanding, not flinching away from Brad's tired eyes. The LT had tried to counsel the Sergeant. Brad had wanted comfort, not counsel, from Nate, not the officer.

It was wrong, inappropriate and utterly fucked up.

Not unlike this whole damn war.

Nate himself fucks up when he denies his men a foot patrol of the bridge outside of Muwafaqiya. He almost pays for it with the lives of his men.

None of them have to say the words because they're all thinking it: _Ambush. Trap_. It's dark, oppressively so, and Nate feels blind and deaf. He's sure it becomes harder to breathe when the arti starts up. He curses the dark when the lead vehicles become boxed in.

Brad's quiet voice announcing the men in the trees makes Nate's blood run cold. It's complete chaos and if Nate doesn't take control he's going to lose a member of his platoon. His men need a leader. They need someone to give clear, precise orders that make sense. They need him to unfuck this situation.

Nate barks orders for Mike to turn the truck around and wait, then runs out into the night. He doesn't think much beyond putting vehicles between himself and the flying bullets. He hears the warning pass down, "LT is foot-mobile", so they're already looking to him as he reaches each driver, barking instructions for them to turn the fuck around and get out of the goddamn kill-zone.

He's not afraid. Nate doesn't think of the danger or the dark, but focuses on the necessary task at hand. It's not a hard task to figure out, it just takes someone _doing_ it. In the end, Pappy is wounded but alive and Nate knows he's won, despite the darkness threatening to swallow him.

He and rest of Bravo-two watch the cluster-fuck on the bridge unfold. He keeps his disdain to himself and he watches and listens to his own commanding officer fall apart, secure in the knowledge that when it came down to it, he'd manned up.

"Surprised Mike hasn't skinned you alive," Brad's voice is laced with humor as it drifts out of the darkness.

"And what have I done that would have raised the ire of our esteemed Gunnery Sergeant?" Nate asks, inordinately pleased at Brad's company.

"Got out of your victor in the middle of firefight, for starters," Brad replies. "Tap dancing on flying rounds would be another."

"Someone had to take command. It's my job," Nate says, matter-of-factly. "Mike knows that. He does what he can to play protector but in the end, he gets out of my way when I have to step up and be an officer."

"Well, thanks for getting my ass out of the line of fire, sir," Brad says. "And thanks for not getting yourself killed in the process."

Brad steps into the shadow Nate hasn't realized he's standing in. His truck is blocking the moon so it's darker here. Still, Brad seems to glow with an internal light.

"You're welcome," Nate says, his voice sounding breathless to his own ears. "Would you have missed me?" He refuses to back down from the heat he sees in Brad's eyes.

"I would regret losing you as my commanding officer, yes," Brad says and Nate suddenly finds his back pressed up against the side of his victor. "But more than anything, I'd regret losing the opportunity to follow whatever this is between us to its logical conclusion when we get back home."

Nate doesn't look away when Brad sets his weapon down and then reaches for Nate's own. Brad steps closer and there is barely a breath separating them, now.

"Just what is it that's between us, Brad?" Nate knows but he wants to hear Brad say it.

"Attraction. Connection."

"And, in your estimation, what is the logical conclusion?" Brad's lips hover just above Nate's. His heart is hammering in his chest and he knows all he has to do is lift his chin and they'll be kissing. Instead, he stays where he is, demanding that Brad say it; demanding that Brad bring it all _to him_.

Brad's head dips and his breath ghosts over the shell of Nate's ear as he speaks, "Big bed, clean sheets, and me naked and spread out for you."

"That's worth trying to stay alive for," Nate says, smiling with the knowledge that he could entice Brad to say those words out loud.

Brad's lips graze Nate jaw before they settle on his mouth. Nate takes control from there, grasping Brad's face and angling it to his satisfaction. He plunges his tongue into Brad's mouth, licking at him and forcing him to chase Nate's tongue.

Brad's hips press against his own and Nate smiles against the kiss when he feels Brad shudder against him. He did this, he brought Brad to this point. He revels in his victory.

"Am I to understand, Brad," Nate asks against Brad's kiss-swollen lips. "That you want your commanding officer to fuck you?"

"No," Brad whispers hoarsely, his fingers wrapping around the webbing of Nate's vest. "I want you, Nate, to fuck me."

Yeah, Nate understands the difference now.

"I gotta get back to my victor," Brad says when he pulls away slowly, reaching for his weapon.

They are TL and LT again, but Nate knows, the next time they're alone in the dark, Brad and Nate are going to come together and it's going to be _incendiary_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from shooting terms that mean to sight in a rifle while it is resting or mounted, thus removing the human element from the shot. Once a firearm, sights and/or scope are sighted in this manner, all shots outside the 10-ring during competition are due entirely to the shooter's skill. Thank you to mydocuments for the emergency beta, and to shoshannagold for an early once-over that kept me on track.


End file.
